Preloved Read online

  I stared at my reflection. The locket looked good on me. I reckon I’d have made an awesome teen of the Eighties.

  I wondered if the girl who used to own the locket had married the boy inside. I hoped so. I rubbed my finger over the wear on the back. Whoever she was, she must have really loved him. She must have worn the locket every day. That was romantic.

  I wondered if she lived nearby and whether she had children. Or whether, back then, she ever imagined that the future world would be like this.

  I put my comb down, next to the matching brush. They were somewhat embarrassing and pink and had cartoons of Rainbow Brite on them, but I’d had them since I was little. I loved the story of Rainbow Brite, about an orphan girl who was taken to a black-and-white world and fought to bring colour back.

  When I looked back at the mirror, the reflection of the creepy new boy smiled and winked at me over my shoulder.

  I squeezed my eyes shut and screamed.

  “Amy! What’s the matter?” Mum’s voice floated up the stairs. “I’m coming up.”

  “I’m all right,” I shouted back. I opened my eyes. It was only my own reflection in the mirror. “Don’t come up. It’s nothing!”

  “Do you want me to send up the shopping square security guard? Or a doctor? Or a priest?”

  A priest, please. One with a cross and holy water to perform an exorcism, because there’s a bloody ghost in my room.

  “I just freaked out because I saw a spider!” I replied instead.

  “When have you ever been scared of spiders?” came the reply.

  Relax, Amy, I told myself. There’s no such thing as ghosts. Sure, there’s the Mister Fozziebum business, but that’s all a construct to help people deal with grief and loss. It isn’t real.

  There had to be a logical explanation. I turned to look behind me. My bedroom window was directly behind my dresser. Of course!

  I hurried over to the window, pushed the glass up and stuck my head outside. The square was almost empty, except for the last of the employees shutting up and heading towards the car park. I could see the stagnant wishing fountain I had fallen into this morning leering at me in the distance, but there was no sign of the new boy.

  It was definitely possible that he had propped a ladder against the wall and climbed up. Or he had scaled the big gum tree that grew in front of the shop. Yes, that was it.

  He had climbed up the tree and I had seen his reflection with mine in the mirror. He had appeared much closer to me, but it was probably the twilight. Or the weather conditions. Or the El Niño effect or whatever it was, playing havoc with my perception.

  What a creep.

  For a moment I was too scared to turn around. It was as if I could feel a chill on the back of my neck, sending a twitch through my entire body. What if he was standing behind me right now? I’d definitely scream again and fall out the window.

  Ridiculous.

  I spun around. No one there. I breathed a huge sigh of relief.

  I picked up the phone and punched the speed-dial button.

  “Rebecca!” I said. “Can you explain to me why one of your stalkers has turned into my stalker?”

  “Amy?” came her confused voice down the line. “What are you talking about? Why would one of my stalkers stalk you?”

  “Do you remember that new boy from today? The one wearing the black new wave hat?” I flopped down on my bed, exhausted.

  “Seriously, Amy, I have no idea who you’re referring to. What’s the matter? You sound really stressed.”

  “I am stressed! That boy – I caught him staring through my bedroom window just then.”

  “Really. Eww,” said Rebecca. “Why?”

  I sidestepped the niggling feeling that she was asking me why any boy would want to stare at me.

  “I don’t know. That’s what I was hoping you’d help me figure out.”

  “Um, how?”

  “Come off it, Bex. I saw the way he stared at you today. He must be using me to get to you. Although I haven’t figured out in what way.”

  There was silence at the other end of the phone. In the background I could hear the sounds of an alternative punk band. Rebecca was probably listening to her obscure records, painting her toes purple and working on one of her beautiful charcoal drawings of fairies and goblin kings.

  I wanted to crawl down the phone and be with her in her purple and black bedroom, not alone in a haunted house.

  “Amy,” came the eventual reply, “I think you need to get a good sleep. You really don’t sound well. We’ll talk about it in the morning, okay?”

  “Okay,” I replied in barely a squeak. I hated how she sounded so reasonable. I hung up, groaned and rolled over onto my stomach.

  Maybe it was all in my head. A boy stares at me and smiles, even though he’s in insta-love with my best friend, and suddenly my mind is making up all sorts of fantasies to insert myself into the action.

  Maybe I just needed sleep, like Rebecca said.

  I couldn’t be bothered to take the locket off. Actually, I didn’t want to take it off. I had become attached to it. You know the feeling? When you buy something cheap, but you end up loving it more than the most expensive thing money can buy?

  Maybe I wanted to be the girl who owned the locket. Maybe I thought I deserved a Princess Bride-style fairytale too. I concentrated my thoughts on being the solid, perfect girl in my head, instead of the faded and jaded half-girl I really was.

  I drifted off with my fingers still wrapped around the locket. I fell into a restless dream within a dream, where I woke thinking that someone was staring at me, only to find no one there.

  I’d forgotten how depressing our school uniform was. A yellow polo shirt with the school emblem embroidered on the pocket and a red pleated skirt. It wasn’t a school uniform; it was a sports outfit.

  At least it wasn’t winter. Then you had to contend with a yellow polar fleece that made you look like SpongeBob SquarePants. We didn’t have blazers. The school owned five communal ones to whore up students going out into the public eye for speaking and debating contests.

  I decided I was going to buy the leavers jumper, it looked marginally cooler because it wasn’t as violent a yellow and you could have your nickname printed on the back, bogan-style. Would “Princess Amy” be too much?

  I tied my hair into a ponytail and pulled on my socks with the multicoloured love hearts to try to make myself feel better. I took one last look in the mirror, to check that my – the – locket was sitting straight. Then I went down the stairs, swinging on the banister and going down two steps at a time.

  “Amy! Quit the racket, you’ll scare all the customers away!”

  “Mum, it’s too early for customers.”

  Milk dribbled down my chin as I had a reprise of yesterday’s “dinner” for breakfast. I hung my Princess Buttercup dress on the hook on the back door, for Mum to take to the drycleaners once we had money again.

  Pausing briefly on my way into the shop, I looked at the stack of boxes lined up against the stairs labelled “Evening Dresses – 1980s”. Exciting.

  I sighed. Mum should have got them out onto the floor ages ago; the school ball was in five days’ time. I decided to make the effort to come home early and sort through everything. A few luxe dresses in the front window should draw girls in with their fistfuls of Mummy and Daddy’s cash.

  I was about to walk into the shop when something whispered into my ear. I turned back around in surprise.

  That’s when I saw the unlabelled box tucked in the alcove underneath the stairs. If I wasn’t mistaken, I saw the box just try to open itself.

  I put my hand on the cardboard flap, and it was almost as if the box trembled. I opened it up gently and saw that it too was filled with 1980s evening dresses. Mum must have missed this box.

  I wanted to drag it out, but I knew Rebecca was going to drop by and pick me up any second now, so I gave it a soft pat and made my way through to the shop.

  “Shall we let som
e fresh air in?” Mum opened the front door and a customer stepped in.

  Blue eyes. Bright polo with popped collar. Black brimmed hat. Oh no. I turned and went straight back where I’d come from.

  I peeped through the doorway. Mum was standing behind the counter and New Boy was casually strolling around the shop, looking around.

  Shit. Why did Mum have to let him in? But of course, she didn’t know. It was too late to regret not telling Mum the truth last night.

  I should have just gone out there. Confronted him like a reasonable person and asked him to explain himself. But I was chicken. I grabbed my schoolbag and dashed out the back door.

  I unlocked the little garden gate that led out to the back road and snuck past the rubbish bins. I approached the corner and looked up the alley, back towards the main street, where the front of the shopping square was.

  “Looking for someone?” said a voice behind me, making me jump.

  I turned around. It was the boy.

  “How did you get here so fast? You were just–”

  I turned back around and started walking away from him quickly.

  “Hey, take a chill pill, right?”

  Chill pill? What was with the awful Eighties slang? The next thing I knew, he’d be cracking out a “grouse” and an “ace”. And Eighties dress-up day was supposed to be over – why was he still wearing the outfit he had on yesterday? Where was his school uniform?

  “I believe you have something that isn’t yours,” he called out to me.

  Was he accusing me of being a thief?

  I spun around to face him. “Well, I believe you should stop following me – you stalker! Or I’m going to report you!”

  “Look, you seem like a nice girl. Stop chucking a spack at me.”

  Chucking a spack? I hadn’t even heard chucking a spack before. Ever.

  He took his time, strolling up to me with his hands in his pockets.

  “That isn’t yours, is it?”

  He pointed to the locket around my neck.

  “Back off,” I said in a loud voice. “My friend Rebecca found it. I repeat, found it. And she didn’t want it, so she gave it to me. I didn’t steal anything.”

  He was still intent on getting closer, so I took a step back. I mean, the nerve of him.

  “Look, mister, if someone should be asking questions, it’s me. Who are you? Why were you in our backyard last night and why did you look into my bedroom window?”

  I tried to disregard the fact I found him mildly attractive and maybe it wouldn’t be so bad if I stopped walking backwards and we came nose to nose.

  “Fair dinkum, what is this – a police interrogation? I’m Logan. Nice to meet you too. I was in your backyard because I was playing with your dog. And I didn’t look in your window last night. I was actually standing behind you in your room.”

  To say my mouth dropped open was an understatement. I think I shattered my entire lower jaw when it hit the pavement.

  “Wha … what the hell?” I stuttered.

  Luckily for me (or so I thought at the time), I could see Rebecca walking on the main street. With brand-new pink hair shining like a bubblegum beacon of hope.

  I started jogging towards her. I could feel Logan following me.

  “Bex!”

  She stopped and stared at me. “What are you doing in the alleyway?”

  I ran up to her and stopped for a second, to catch my breath.

  “Him!” I said, pointing at Logan, who had stopped following and was now staring at Rebecca with the same look of rapture he’d had yesterday.

  “Bex, he’s the stalker!”

  “But … no,” said Rebecca, confusion in her expression. “It can’t be.”

  “Yes,” I insisted. “I don’t know why you’re defending him, but I was there, okay?”

  “Amy, listen to me.” Rebecca enunciated her words carefully, like I was a baby. She put her hands on my shoulders. “There is no stalker, because there’s no one there. You are pointing at nothing.”

  “But … my mum let him in this morning.”

  Then I realised that maybe Mum hadn’t let him in. She said she was letting in the fresh air. And she had stood behind the counter, maybe seeing nothing at all while an invisible stranger browsed through her shop.

  It was my worst fear. For some reason scarier than any other part of this. I was the only one who could see him.

  “You look ace,” Logan said to Rebecca, who didn’t react to his voice and turn towards him like I did. “A complete spaz with that hair, but ace.”

  I groaned. Oh crap.

  Chapter 4

  “Are you sure there’s no one there?” I asked Rebecca, as I looked directly at Logan.

  He looked back at me with a puzzled expression.

  “Of course I’m sure; I’m not crazy,” replied Rebecca, craning her neck, looking around and through Logan.

  I’m not crazy either! I wanted to shout at her.

  So … how was I going to explain my way out of this one?

  “Maybe he’s run away,” suggested Rebecca, awkwardly.

  “Why, of course! I swear he was just right behind me and … oh drats, he’s disappeared,” I replied, just as awkwardly. “I guess that’s why they call them stalkers.”

  Logan kept staring at me with the same expression.

  Mum was right. She’d warned me that if I didn’t listen to her, one day I was going to pick up a ghost.

  “Hey, Rebecca, why don’t you go on ahead by yourself? I’m going to take a few minutes to sort things out.”

  “You’re not going to try and find this stalker yourself, are you? Vigilantism is not a good idea. Didn’t you see that story in the paper about that girl from that rich school who –”

  “I’m not going to kill anyone,” I scoffed and tried to laugh. Not if the culprit is already dead. I looked straight at Logan.

  “See you at school. Bye!” I gave Rebecca a friendly shove, hitched my bag back up my shoulder and then jogged back down the alleyway.

  I think Rebecca must have thought I was going mad when Logan suddenly stepped in front of me and I swerved sideways to avoid hitting him. Hitting him? If he really was a ghost, I should have shown him his place by running though him.

  “Just avoiding that patch on the ground – it looked dangerous!” I shouted to Rebecca over my shoulder, and I ran until I was safely around the corner.

  “Why are you acting so warped?” said Logan from behind me.

  “Crap!” I jumped out of my skin and turned around. “Can you stop that?”

  Oh God, maybe this was just all in my head. Maybe if I shut my eyes and just thought happy, calming thoughts, then this hallucination I was obviously having would go away. Okay, Amy. Nice, calm thoughts.

  “Stop what? You know, closing your eyes and chanting isn’t going to make me go away. Amy.”

  I opened my eyes. I was sure hallucinations were not supposed to be this interactive. Or know my name.

  “Suddenly appearing like that. I totally get why people try to avoid ghosts now – they’re bloody inconsiderate.”

  “Blimey. I’m not the one going ape,” said Logan. “Why are you going on about ghosts?”

  “You,” I said. I almost went to stab him in the chest with my finger. “You appear to be a ghost. I have no idea where you came from or why you are following me, but isn’t there a white light or something you should be heading towards? Leave me alone. I’m going.”

  “I’m going with you.”

  “I’m going to school.”

  “Well, I should be heading to school too, Miss Matey.”

  “Why are you calling me that?”

  “I call everyone Miss Matey,” replied Logan, as if it was perfectly normal. “Or Mr Matey.”

  “What does that even mean?”

  Logan sighed. “The ad – the bubble bath ad? I want my clothes off! I want my Mr Matey! And now for girls – Miss Matey! Do you not watch TV?”

  I may not watch a lot of TV, b
ut I think I’d remember if I saw an ad with someone threatening to take their clothes off.

  “Don’t tell me – you’re one of those weirdo kids who aren’t allowed to? Fair dinkum, do you live under a rock? It’s 1988. Chill.”

  Oh my God.

  “I’m sorry, Logan, but we’re no longer in the Eighties.” I scrunched my face up. “If you’re hoping to party like it’s 1999 because Prince told you the world was going to end in 2000, then I’m sorry to disappoint you. We’re all still here.”

  A group of shop assistants walked past, catching me while I was talking to Logan and throwing my arms up in the air.

  Crap. I needed to improvise.

  I started waving my arms in a rhythmic motion, moving my body into a dance and humming under my breath. I could be listening to my headphones. I mean, music players were so small these days you could hardly see them, right?

  They all started walking past me faster.

  “Fair go, don’t try and kid me,” said Logan, pausing to stare at me. I dropped the dance. “I was at school yesterday. Breakdancing, Michael Jackson and Madonna, girls in pink lycra. Not my scene, but that’s what popular right now, isn’t it?”

  How could I explain Eighties ironic dress-up day? And would I upset him if he knew we were kinda making fun of his generation?

  “Maybe it’s easier if I show you,” I said to him. “Fine. Come with me.”

  “I was going to go anyway.” Logan threw his hands in the air. “Let’s hightail it outta here.”

  I expected Logan to, I don’t know, disappear and then reappear at the front of the school. Or maybe to suddenly appear randomly again at the traffic light or when I was around a large group of pedestrians, just to freak me out on purpose. But he started walking next to me like a normal, human person.

  That made a silly, cheesy grin appear on my face. If only Nancy Pants and the Minority Group could see me with Logan, the good-looking jock, right now. Oh, but that’s right, no one can see him.

  It didn’t seem to faze Logan that no one noticed him. Not just the usual ignoring of the good-for-nothing-today’s-youth, but the close-to-walking-right-through-him sort of not noticing.

  I forced myself to stop at the pedestrian crossing even though it was still blinking and I would normally run across. What would happen if a rogue car suddenly hooned around the corner and ran over him because the driver couldn’t see him? I know he couldn’t “die”. But would it still hurt?